Seeking Solace
by Aries Arisen
Summary: Memories of a time long passed resurface... -Belarus oneshot-


**Random Author Blabbing:** My first fanfiction for the Hetalia fandom. Obviously, the genius man who created this amazing series is not me. I'd appreciate it greatly if you reviewed, and go easy on-… Actually, you know what. Say what you have to. Flames shall keep me warm in the cold winter nights. I'll be awaiting your thoughts and reactions, and I hope you enjoy.

It is a personal headcanon of mine that Belarus would make a damned good mother, and secretly adores small children. She would want a child of her own, but agonizes over adopting a human child because she would have to see her precious child grow old and die. Drawing on that, I believe that it was either this that fueled her obsession with marriage, or vice versa. I thought it would be interesting to write how it might have come about, and that resulted in… this travesty. Again, please enjoy, and leave a review if you liked it (or hated it.) It only takes a moment and means an awful lot to a poor little author like me. Much love.

**Fin.**

The year is 1919. The Polish-Soviet War has left many children without parents or a home. That is where the orphanages come in. Sweeping little urchins up, clothing them, feeding them, and giving them a prayer for a family. The offering is meager in the face of tragedy, but it is the best they can do.

Natalya braves herself for venturing out in the cold winter morning. She is running low on oil for lanterns, as well as wool. She dons a padded layered coat, a gift from her boss the last time she'd met with him in person. He assures her everything will turn over well, and she believes him. How else could he be well enough to afford such a fine coat? She prefers not to think of such things as ulterior motives.

It turns out she may not need it after all. The weather is mild, at least for this season, and Natalya actually enjoys the wind on her face and in her hair. While on her way back, purchases in hand, something catches her eye. "Mantchev…" she murmurs. "An orphanage…"

She won't be expected back for hours yet. She has plenty of time. Perhaps… On a whim, she decides to enter. The parlor is dark. Cold. Bleak. The young maid scurries off before Natalya can say a word, probably to inform the mistress of this orphanage. After a few moments, she returns, with an unsmiling woman in tow.

"I am Madame Mantchev," the woman introduces herself tersely. "I have founded this orphanage and work to find homes for young children without. You are looking for such a child." It does not sound like a question.

Natalya murmurs a greeting and averts her eyes. How is she to explain she just came in without thinking, on a whim? Instead, she raises her head in the silence that follows, and asks quietly, "May I see the children?"

She doesn't have much experience with them, that much is sure. Children, to her, had seemed like small animals, drooling and unable to fend for themselves. Though she seems like little more than a young woman herself, she has seen many children grow into adults and then elders, gaining age and wisdom. What in the world would she do with a child, as she was? A young mother that never ages while her child grows and learns to question it. It couldn't be done.

And yet…

What could be the harm in just looking? It was curiosity, that was all. She could always explain that she wasn't interested in adopting a child after all. With that mindset, she follows the stone-faced Madame Mantchev to meet her charges.

At first, Natalya thinks that her description of children being animals was spot on. It is like a zoo, with children running and jumping and screaming and pulling each other's hair and clawing at each other like beasts.

Something small hits Natalya's cheek and drops into her hand. It's a little tooth, stained with red and probably straight from one child's mouth. She drops it without a word and steps further into the fray, driven by a morbid fascination. She wonders what these rowdy little brutes would think of her penchant for sharp blades. Still, it wouldn't be wise to go bringing out one of the weapons she always kept on her person. It would certainly cause a ruckus, one she didn't need just yet. Instead. She spends some time talking to a few of the more subdued children, left to dodge the more hyperactive of their peers.

There is Katya, a small girl of about six, who likes books and dolls. Aleksey, proudly announcing he's been here for a year, along with his little brother Dmitri who's been battling a fever. There's Inga, a new arrival who does not speak. Her baby brother was not so lucky in making it here. She has the most solemn eyes, even while reaching up and giving Natalya a sticky kiss on the cheek. She sits in the young woman's lap for a while and presides over the fuss of the other children like a judge.

Natalya can feel the cold eyes of Madame Mantchev watching over her. Sooner or later, she would be dragged into a sales pitch as if she were looking to buy an expensive commodity instead of a child.

It is some time, after playing the few games she remembers from childhood, asking questions about the orphanages, and singing a song or two to little Inga, that it begins to grow dark outside. Natalya has lost far too much track of time, and knows she has to leave soon. She untangles herself from a gaggle of children, answering their pleas of 'just a little longer' with hushed tones and reassurances that she had fun.

She has trouble remembering to pull away when she feels a small hand clutch the hem of her skirt. Dark eyes, grave as a child's could be, stare into Natalya's own stormy blue ones, and it is all the young woman can do not to gather the little girl into her arms then and there. After a few seconds of eye contact, she hears footsteps behind her. "Come now, Inga, dear." Madame Mantchev's voice is quiet, but clear. "I'm sure your playmate has other matters to attend to." There is a moment where the girl looks like she would like nothing less, but she nods and releases her grip.

Natalya swallows once and turns away, walking back towards the parlor with the Madame at her side. "Is it…" she begins, clears her throat, and begins again. "Is it acceptable if… if I were to come back? At a later date?" The founder of Mantchev's Orphanage has the smile of a salesman knowing they've got a customer.

"Of course, miss," she agrees smoothly. "Feel free to return and spend a bit more time with them. It is best that a decision like this is not rushed, no?"

No, certainly not. Especially since such a decision would be highly unwise. Natalya inclines her head and bids the Madame a farewell. After a last look backwards, she makes her way out of the orphanages doors to find that snow is falling, drifting silently onto the ground to form a blanket of white. Though Natalya has seen countless snowfalls in her life, it is this one that strikes her as beautiful, with twilight embedding the pure white flakes with their secrets of night and laze…

The year is 2004. Natalia has not visited this particular place for many years, though it only feels like a short while since she last saw it. The building in front of her is falling apart, decrepit and nearly ready to crumble. She carefully picks her way through beams of old wood and rotted foliage to venture past the building. An old orphanage, providing homes for young children without, has become a cemetery. Natalya pauses beside one headstone, and though the inscription is a bit worn, she can still read the name perfectly.

"Inga Arlovskaya…" she whispers. "How are you doing, my sweet girl? I have come to visit you again, but it has been a long time, hasn't it…?"

She makes herself comfortable, and continues speaking like this for some time, until the sun had begun to sink past the hills once more. Natalya closes her eyes for a few moments, until something cold drifts onto her cheek and melts, rolling downward like a fresh tear. Her eyes open to find that snow is just beginning to fall, and it won't be long before she has to leave. With one last goodbye, she stands up stiffly and starts heading back, being unable to keep the feelings of nostalgia and grief locked away in her heart.

She will return again.


End file.
